


Some Day

by frankiesin



Series: Say It With Neon [7]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Cinematic Parallels, Light Angst, Other, Polyamorous Character, Post-Split, Trans Character, hypersexual character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 13:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13682322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankiesin/pseuds/frankiesin
Summary: "Some day, we're gonna see the west coast," Dallon said.Six years later, it came true.





	Some Day

**Author's Note:**

> Mild spoilers for Cape Town shenanigans, but only if you're paying attention. But this is a little Brallon thing, because my friend Charise has a tattoo on her arm that says "one day we've gotta see the west coast" and I realised yesterday that she and her sibling/mom went to California exactly a year before I did.

**September 11, 2003; Las Vegas, Nevada.**

 

Brendon was exhausted. He still had to catch the bus from school to the mall, because his shift started in an hour and went until the mall closed. He wasn’t looking forward to it. He had a bunch of homework, too, but that was the last thing on his mind. Brendon just wanted to sleep, or for it to be his day off of work so that he could be a normal teenager again. 

 

For most people, childhood ended when you were eighteen, or when you went off to college. For Brendon, his childhood had ended when he told his parents he was in love with a guy five years older than him and that they could either have a gay son or no son at all. They’d chosen the latter, and Brendon had gotten on a bus to Arizona, and then hitch-hiked through the state until he got a call from Dallon that made him come back to Vegas. 

 

Now he was a senior in high school, renting an apartment under Dallon’s name because Dallon was a legal adult and could actually have an apartment, and working full time to try and get enough money to really leave. Dallon was still in Vegas, thankfully, but he was working two different jobs and he didn’t hang out with Brendon much. Brendon couldn’t blame him for that one. Brendon had lied about how old he was, and even though that never fucked people up before, it had with Dallon. Dallon was different. He actually cared that Brendon was a minor, and more than a hot and ready piece of ass. Brendon wasn’t sure how to handle that, so he did the stupid thing and fell in love with the guy. 

 

There was a bright purple minivan in the pickup line. Brendon stopped, because he knew that there were multiple purple minivans out there, but he only knew of one. The Brobecks van, owned by Dallon Weekes himself, and Dallon was in the driver’s seat. Brendon could hear Madonna playing from inside, which was odd, because he’d never heard Dallon play Madonna before, and Dallon had a major music boner for the 80s. 

 

Brendon walked up to the van and tapped on the glass. The music shut off and Dallon leaned over to open the door for Brendon to get in. Brendon did, and set his backpack on the floor. The last time he’d been in this van, he’d been coming home from a funeral. The times before that hadn’t been too great, either. Brendon tapped his feet together. “You don’t usually pick me up from school.”

 

“Didn’t want to be at home,” Dallon said, which was a valid excuse. Dallon’s parents sucked ass. They basically had him on house arrest, and when they weren’t treating him like he was a fifteen year old girl in a bad 80s movie, they were reminding him that they thought he was going to hell for being gay. Brendon had only brought up moving in together once. Dallon had looked at Brendon as though he’d rather be homeless than have to face their relationship head-on. 

 

“Oh,” Brendon said. He swallowed. “Did they… did they do anything in particular?”

 

“Suicide isn’t a cop-out,” Dallon said, and cut in front of someone without using his blinker. He looked over at Brendon, and even with his sunglasses on, Brendon could tell that Dallon had been crying. He did that a lot. Breezy’s death had hit Dallon harder than it had hit Brendon. 

 

“I know,” Brendon said, because he didn’t have anything else to say. He didn’t know if Dallon’s parents knew how Breezy had died, or if they cared. Brendon had only met them once, and they’d hated him on sight and basically called him a prostitute. They weren’t entirely wrong, because Brendon had used sex for money a few times, but he didn’t want to do that. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a job or anything, but sometimes he got less hours at the mall and he had to cover his bills somehow. 

 

He had a good mouth. A lot of skeevy people in downtown Las Vegas liked that. Dallon had no idea what Brendon did, and Brendon was going to keep it that way. Dallon thought that Brendon was still a virgin, which he wasn’t, but he said he was because he’d never really had sex with anyone who liked him for who he was and not what he could do to make them feel good. 

 

Brendon would have given his virginity to Dallon, if Dallon had wanted it. Dallon didn’t, and so now they were here, in the Brobecks van, on the way to Brendon’s legal job, talking about their dead friend. Brendon didn’t have a normal childhood. 

 

“Someday, we gotta see the west coast,” Dallon said. His voice was clear and certain, like he’d already planned it out. 

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I made a promise to go to California, and I’ll be damned if I don’t come through on it,” Dallon said. He looked over at Brendon. There were five years between them, and Brendon knew that that meant more to Dallon, but in that instance, they were both timeless. Immortal, and trapped in the hell that was being gay and religious. Dallon was at once the scared 19 year old kid who’d run off to a different state to kiss boys, and the man he’d be in ten years who was bitter and brilliant at whatever he’d chosen to become. 

 

And Brendon was 15, sitting on a hotel bed somewhere downtown, shaking as a woman in red came towards him and told him she could make him feel amazing, but he was also thirty and married (to Dallon, because this was a fantasy and Brendon was allowed to dream) and living in Malibu. They’d seen everything there was to see, and now they were going to burn it down. That was the dream. That was the cost of being timeless and tired and so, so angry at the world. 

 

Brendon nodded. “We’re gonna see the west coast. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

**September 11, 2009; Los Angeles, California.**

 

Brendon rolled over and almost face-planted into the guy next to him. Not Dallon. Dallon was in their own room, probably not sleeping because they didn't do that much anymore. The split sucked, but Brendon and Dallon weren’t talking about it. Instead, Dallon was writing like they were dying of brain cancer and had to get it all out, and Brendon was slowly sleeping his way through the music industry. He was old enough now to know it wasn’t healthy, or even a good idea, but he felt hollowed out and sex fixed that. 

 

“Wanna go for round two?” the guy beside Brendon asked. He ran his hand down Brendon’s torso and cupped his fingers around Brendon’s dick. “Bet you’re still loose and wet from last night.”

 

“Not in the mood,” Brendon said, because he wasn’t. He was tired and tense and thinking about Spencer, which never ended well. Brendon had no idea where his ex even was, and that stressed him the hell out. Spencer could be anywhere, because no one had seen him since the night after the wedding, not even Linda. 

 

Linda also wasn’t talking to Brendon and Dallon much, because she was in Chicago and trying to get her degree sorted out. On top of that, she was a little pissed that they hadn’t dropped the band name, but Brendon thought she was being ridiculous. Neither Rochelle nor Spencer owned the name Panic at the Disco, and since Brendon and Dallon had been there since the beginning, they could keep using it if they wanted to. 

 

Besides, if Rochelle was so attached to the band, she and Jon could have just claimed it as theirs before fucking off to their perfect suburban starter home in Seattle. It was a sweet little house, but it made them look like a boring straight couple, and so Brendon hated it. He was never going to get that kind of thing, and at this point, he wasn’t sure what he’d do with a perfect family home if he ever got one in the first place. 

 

The guy--Brendon couldn’t remember his name but he knew he was in an electro punk band from Atlanta--shrugged and rolled over. “Your loss, I guess. See you around, Bren.”

 

“You too,” Brendon said, and flopped back onto the mattress. He waited until the guy was gone to pull the sheets up around him and curl into a little ball. He was kind of sore, but he liked it, so it wasn’t an issue. The sex wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t anything impressive, either. Brendon missed Dallon. They hadn’t fucked in a while, and Brendon knew it was because Dallon was dealing with the break-up in their own way. 

 

He fell back asleep, and when he woke up he could smell someone cooking. He assumed it was Dallon, but it could have been the guy from last night. Either way, Brendon didn’t need to put on pants, so he just walked out of his bedroom with his blankets around him like a cape. 

 

Dallon was in the kitchen, along with Pete Wentz and his wife, and so Brendon quickly covered his dick. Ashlee Simpson did not need to know what his junk looked like. Pete already knew, as did Dallon (for the same reasons), and that was enough for Brendon. Brendon walked up to Dallon and kissed them on the neck. “Breakfast?”

 

“Lunch, I think,” Dallon said. They glanced at Brendon and he noted the purple circles under their eyes. “How late were you up?”

 

“Not as late as you,” Brendon said. This was normal for them now, and Brendon hated it. He was still pissed at Spencer, because some of the things he said had hurt a lot, but he’d forgive Spencer if it meant that the hollow feeling in his chest would go away. Dallon retreating into themself only made it worse for Brendon. He’d grown up with four siblings, and then he’d practically lived with Panic for the four years they’d been together. He didn’t know how to be alone. 

 

Dallon nodded and started serving up the food. It was some kind of tofu pasta thing, and it looked good. Dallon handed a plate and kissed Brendon on the lips. “Have fun?”

 

“You could say that,” Brendon said. Dallon didn’t know that Brendon had slept with Pete. They’d both been drunk, and Brendon was pretty sure Pete regretted it, but he didn’t want to bring it up with Dallon. They had an open relationship--losing Spencer hadn’t changed that--but Dallon was weird about some things. 

 

They joined Pete and Ashlee at the table and Brendon adjusted his blanket so his ass and thighs weren’t on the cold chair. He grinned at the married couple. “Sorry about the naked thing, by the way. Didn’t realise there would be company.”

 

Dallon arched an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. 

 

“It’s cool,” Pete said. He had a hand on Ashlee’s thigh, and it was so casual. It was like they were really in love, and not just two people obsessed with the idea of each other. Pete had told Brendon a lot the night they fucked, and Brendon knew Pete didn’t really love her. Pete liked Ashlee, and the marriage wasn’t a scam or anything, but he regretted marrying her and his heart was elsewhere. Brendon suspected Gabe, because Gabe was almost always at the Wentz-Simpson house, even in the early mornings. He didn’t say anything, though. It wasn’t his marriage to ruin. 

 

“I called Pete over to talk about some of the stuff I’d been working on,” Dallon said. They pushed their notebook over to Brendon. The lyrics were good, because Dallon was a talented person, but Brendon wasn’t sure he wanted to sing about blowjobs for a teen movie. 

 

“When’d you write this?” Brendon asked. 

 

“About a week ago,” Dallon said. “I’ve been messing around with it since then, but I think it’s done for now. We just need to find another guitarist and a new drummer.”

 

That was another thing they didn’t talk about. Band replacements. The internet had blown up enough when Panic went from five members to two, and Brendon didn’t know how to tackle making it four. He was willing to take up some of the guitar parts so that they didn't have to get as many touring members, but he didn’t know where to start. There weren’t a lot of guitarists in LA that Brendon wouldn’t fuck. 

 

“We can record the song with just the two of us,” Brendon commented. “I mean, I know how to drum. We’ll really only need the extras for when we’re on tour.”

 

“Are you guys going to tour again?” Pete asked. Fall Out Boy was still on their little hiatus. Pete’s fans still had hope. Brendon’s (and Dallon’s) were about to have theirs smashed, as soon as  _ Jennifer’s Body _ came out with  _ New Perspective _ on the tracklist. “Or are you gonna write stuff first?”

 

“I think we’re gonna do an album, just so that people know this is the new Panic and we’re not moving backwards,” Brendon said. He turned to Dallon and grinned. “We’re west coast kids now.”

 

“Yeah, congrats, by the way, on finally making the move. FBR’s been taking bets on when you guys would move out to LA,” Pete said. Brendon wasn’t surprised. Fueled By Ramen was basically one big, dysfunctional family, and Brendon loved them all. Even House of Heroes and their weird fanboys in Ohio. Pete poked at a piece of tofu with his fork. “None of us expected it to be a split, though. Travie, Gabe, and I all thought that you five would all move out here and get a giant house up in the hills. Colin thought that Linda would be there, too, for some reason.”

 

“Well, she was planning to get a job in LA whenever she graduated, so you never know,” Dallon said, and didn’t mention that Linda wasn’t talking to them. They sighed, and looked over Brendon’s shoulder. Their house was a few streets back from the beach, but close enough that there was still somewhat of an ocean view. It wasn’t a lot of ocean, but if Brendon got up and stood by the windows, he could see the actual west coast. Dallon was looking out there, and they were probably tall enough that they could see the coast without standing. 

 

Brendon remembered being seventeen and sitting in the Brobecks van. Dallon’s hair was shorter then, and they were angrier, and they told him they were going to see the west coast. 

 

Well, here they were. It was some day, and they had seen the west coast. Judging by the look on Dallon’s face, Brendon figured it met exactly none of their expectations. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed!


End file.
